


Adventures in Babysitting

by IrisVioletta, ValBirch



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: And his little dipshits, Fluff, Gen, Post Season 2, Rating for Cursing, Slice of Life, Some angst, Steve Harrington is the ultimate babysitter, because it's steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisVioletta/pseuds/IrisVioletta, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValBirch/pseuds/ValBirch
Summary: “It turns out I’m a pretty damn good babysitter.” Steve had said it to cut the tension with Nancy, but he didn’t realize just how right he would be.





	1. Eleven

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of Season 2 and Steve Harrington adopting six strange children, IrisVioletta and I have decided to post our newest collab fic. Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment and let us know what you think. 
> 
> Also, give us a shout on Tumblr. @stevemossington & @elevenknope.
> 
> Cheers!

Billy was long gone by the time they returned to the Byers’s house, and Steve thanked whatever god there was for that. The thought of another fight, of meeting that asshole back up there with a stolen car, his face already cut up and his lip swelling wasn’t exactly appealing. 

Steve marshalled the kids inside, instructing all of them to go wash their hands and faces immediately. Surprisingly, they listened without protest. That was new. But he just chalked it up to exhaustion and probably a bit of shock. 

“You should do the same,” Dustin muttered as he passed by, the last to enter the house, “You look like shit.” 

Steve resisted the urge to retort, too damn tired to think of a reply. But Dustin was right. He felt like shit and could only imagine what he’d see when he finally looked in the mirror. Gingerly, he touched his jaw, feeling at the dried blood and dirt mingled there. He’d have to go to the hospital tomorrow, just to make sure nothing got infected. 

But before that, he’d need to find a place to stay for the night. Last year, when he’d finally gotten home from the hospital in the early daylight, he’d endured a harsh lecture from his father. No worries about where he had been, no - it was merely the sight of his bloody face. According to Sam Harrington, “only trash lets someone break their face,” and he had “no time for bums.”

“If you’re going to look like a bum, don’t bother coming home.”

“Yes, sir.”

No, there was no way he was going home tonight. Normally he would have slept at Nancy’s, but that wasn’t really on the table anymore. And he was less than comfortable crashing at Jonathan’s. Steve swore under his breath and, resigned, distracted himself with finding blankets and pillows. 

One by one the kids nodded off—Lucas and Dustin on the floor of Will’s bedroom, Max on the sofa opposite him. Only Mike remained awake. He was still staring anxiously out the window when Steve felt his eyelids grow heavier, consciousness drifting away. 

\---  
“You alright, kid?” 

Steve turned his neck, a little too quickly, and grimaced at its stiffness. The Chief was standing over his shoulder, arms crossed over his hulking chest. 

An uncertain noise fell from Steve’s lips, but it wasn’t much of answer. Hopper raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“Need a lift home?”

Steve blinked, sleep still weighing on his mind. Looking at the Chief, Steve decided that he seemed calm and, considering all the shit they’d seen that night, he figured that was a good sign. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, “I’m just gonna crash in my car tonight.” Slowly, tenderly, he swung his legs off the couch and made to stand up. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him. 

Hopper’s expression softened behind Steve’s back, his lips twitching slightly before he spoke. Before he could get to his feet, Steve felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder. “There’s a shower in the cabin. Water pressure’s decent.” 

\---

Hair dripping, Steve pulled on the plaid shirt and grey sweats Hopper had shoved into his hands on his way into the bathroom. They were about a hundred sizes too big, practically drowning him, but Steve was thankful. Anything was better than the ruined jeans and muddy jacket he’d been wearing a half hour ago. 

As quietly as he could manage, Steve settled in on the sofa, tucking his knees up, his toes cold even in his borrowed socks. The kids hadn’t done half bad patching up his face, but it still hurt like hell. Looked worse. He’d worry about it in the morning. For now, sleep. 

“Steve?”

Steve opened one swollen eye to see El standing over him in checkered pyjamas, staring at him intently. She looked softer, more timid, with the dark smudges under her eyes washed away. She looked like just a kid. 

“Hey kid,” Steve whispered, shifting to sit up against his pillows, “Thought you’d be asleep.” 

As if on cue, a loud snore came resounding from Hopper’s bedroom and Steve couldn’t help but smile at the involuntary giggle that fell from El’s lips as she glanced over her shoulder toward the door. But in a moment, she was looking at him once more, entirely serious. 

“You protected Mike,” she whispered, her tone earnest and heartfelt. Steve looked at her, puzzled. 

“From the bad man,” El continued, taking a seat by his feet. “And in the Upside Down. Mike told me.” 

Steve shrugged slightly. “It was nothing, kid. I was—”

“No,” El interrupted him, putting a hand on his arm. “You protected my friends. You’re a hero.” 

His mouth fell open to reply but no words came out. He was a hero? She saved all of their asses! He'd seen the dried blood on her face when they were at the Byers’ and remembered the way she’d just flung a demodog through the window like it was nothing. 

“Well, y’know - couldn’t just let the little dipshits die.”

“Dipshits.” She repeated, a ghost of a smile appearing, and Steve found himself smirking back.

“Yeah. Maybe don't say that in front of the chief though.” 

Her eyes widened and she nodded seriously. 

“You know, I heard him once - Mike - talking to you. I went into the basement to grab something for Nancy and he was in that little fort, just...just gabbing away about his whole day. It was sweet. ’Course then he noticed me and told me to get the hell out.”

She had a knowing look in her eye. “Day 197.”

“What?”

“Day 197. I was watching.”

Steve just nodded, not exactly sure what that meant. “You missed him, huh?’

“Yes.” Barely a whisper, he almost missed it. Then she looked back up at him with intense eyes, eyes that seemed too old and too weathered for her cherubic face. 

“You are a hero, though. Dipshit.”

Steve burst out laughing and then grabbed his jaw in pain. Expression sympathetic, mouth a slash of determination, El busied herself in the tiny kitchen, making him an ice pack. When she retreated to her bed, Steve finally let himself stretch out on the couch. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and he would no longer be “Steve Harrington, Boyfriend of Nancy Wheeler.” No, he’d need to find a new title. He fell asleep before he could think of one.


	2. Max

Walking down the streets of Loch Nora, skateboard propped under her arm, Max knew she didn’t belong. It wasn’t just the worn quality of her sneakers or the fraying at the sleeves of her sweater. She doubted that anyone in this neighbourhood actually ever had to walk anywhere. 

A little uneasy, she continued down the sidewalk, immaculately absent of the fast food containers and other trash that always littered the curb in her neighbourhood. 

Max found the house easily enough - you couldn’t miss it. She gaped up at it before checking that she had the right address, which Dustin had scribbled on the back of her hand. She knew it matched but was looking for any way to dawdle, a way to delay climbing the imposing porch and ringing the polished doorbell. 

The woman who answered the door looked as though she had stepped right out of the pages of a glamour magazine. Tall, not a hair out of place, face perfectly made up. And a glass of wine balanced in her left hand. Max thought she looked a lot like Mrs. Wheeler, but where Mike’s mom seemed warm and open, this woman was all ice and closed doors. 

“Can I help you?” It was a question asked with disdain, as if Max smelled offensive. 

She almost lost her nerve, but managed to mutter out an answer, trying not to sound too impolite. “I’m, uh, is Steve home?” 

The woman’s face twitched, a moment of confusion crossing her features before they were perfectly arranged once more. She surveyed Max, eyed her from head to toe before turning her head back into the house. 

“Steven! Door!”

Mrs. Harrington didn’t even dignify her with another word, moving away from the doorway in a flash of expensive clothing, leaving Max standing there, uncertain what to do. If she hadn’t heard footsteps coming down the large staircase that she could just glimpse through the gap in the door, she might have turned around and hauled herself home. 

But Steve appeared in the doorway, hair apparently still damp from the shower, his expression surprised when he noticed it was her standing there. Max wasn’t sure if she had expected something different, but she somehow felt hurt, as if that one night a week ago should have meant she could show up unannounced on his doorstep. After all, hadn’t they saved each other’s asses? 

“Max? What’s up? What are you doing here?” There was an edge of concern in his voice and Max immediately knew what he was thinking - that this had something to do with Billy, which, in a way, it did. She saw the way his eyes flit to the edge of the yard, as if he expected to find her step-brother standing there. She saw the sickly yellowish splotches on his otherwise bright skin, the last vestiges of the beating he had taken - at least in part - for her. 

“He’s not here. That’s not why I’m here.” She smirked as he tried - and failed - to retort. “I just...I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Max continued, “About what happened with him. And thank you.” 

He was about to respond when the phone rang inside, and they both paused to listen to his mother answer it.

“Working late...again…”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair before smiling at her. “You wanna go to McDonald’s?”

\---

“And she had the fattest lip for days afterward.”

“Yeah, I dunno...this story is starting to smell a little like bullshit.”

“It’s true!”

They were seated by the front windows, a pile of fries and McNuggets before them. Steve was working on his second milkshake, having winked his way into a free refill from the girl at the counter. 

Max opened her mouth to continue the story of how she had beat up Julie Green on the boardwalk in fifth grade when she was interrupted by the engine roar of a car speeding by, a sound so familiar it made her shudder. Steve noticed the blue Camaro as it passed and his face softened. He kept his gaze directed out the window and quietly asked, “Has he always been like that?” 

“Yeah.” She looked down at her hands in her lap and picked at a torn cuticle. “I don’t think I have to worry about him anymore. At least not for a while.” 

“You know,” Steve mused aloud, “I think I should be the one thanking you. Dustin told me what you did. Sounded pretty badass.”

“I mean, I did basically save your life so…” She deftly leaned across the table and dipped a fry into Steve’s milkshake, earning a furrowed brow from the older boy. 

“Um, what the hell?”

Max rolled her eyes. “I’m doing you a favour,” she insisted, “Tastes better with fry in it.” She gestured toward the milkshake and Steve picked it up, taking a long sip. He shrugged, amused. 

“Is that how they do it in California?” His tone was cheeky and she threw a fry at him.

“Shut up.”

\---

Walking back to his car, Steve noticed the way Max had quieted down, the way her shoulders were a bit more squared. He recognized the feeling because he knew it well; it was what had driven him to bring her to McDonalds in the first place - that irrepressible desire to be anywhere but at home. 

“Hey Max,” he called out to her as he fished around in the pocket of his coat, pulling out his keys, “Catch!”

Without waiting to see if she was prepared, Steve tossed the keys in her direction, impressed when she made a quick lunge and grabbed them out of the air, looking at them with uncertainty. 

“Look,” Steve laughed, “If you’re going to be the Zipper you need to know how to actually drive.” 

Max fixed him with a flat glare. “Zipper?” 

“Yeah, from that Dungeons and Demons thing. A party member needs assistance and all that crap.” 

“Zoomer.” Max said pointedly, shaking her head at him, “I’m the Zoomer.” 

“Not with the way you drive now. Isn’t the point not to kill the other party members?” 

If he’d been closer, Max might have reached out and punched his shoulder. But inside she felt warm, the way she had when she was with her dad in California, bantering away. 

“You're serious?”

“Yeah. But just in the parking lot. And don't you dare hurt Rosie.” The way he punctuated his words with a pointed finger reminded her of the moms on TV. 

“You named your car?”

He made a face and opened the passenger door. “Just get in the damn car.”

“Why Rosie?” She asked as she slipped into the driver’s seat. 

Steve mumbled a reply but she couldn't understand. 

“What's that?” 

“It's short for Rosanna, you know, like…” He hummed a few familiar bars and Max tried to keep from snorting in laughter. 

“You named your car after a Toto song?”

Steve threw up a hand and groaned. “You want the lesson or not?”

“I thought we agreed that I saved your life. So really, you owe me this favour.” 

“God,” Steve grimaced, “You're worse than Dustin.” 

It took a few shaky tries but after a while Max made it across the empty lot without jerking the car once, her face lit up with a proud smile. 

“Not bad, Red.”

“What did you just call me...Steven?”

“Don't be a shit. Let's try again.”

They ended with tentative plans to continue the next weekend, and soon Saturday afternoon McDonald’s runs became a ritual, usually followed by a driving lesson if the lot was clear enough. Afterward, Max would meet up with the boys at the arcade or Mike’s house, a smug smile on her face and nursing the last dregs of her chocolate milkshake. And even though they begged, Steve refused to teach any of the other kids to drive until they were fifteen. 

“Zipper training only.”

“Zoomer.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We're overwhelmed by all the love for the first chapter. Let us know what you think :)


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